An Instance of Expression
by ErmengardeSecret
Summary: The top students at Wammys house are asked to do a creative project. Mello is inspired and out of desire to realise his vision he asks Near to work with him. It is the first and last time that the two work together and changes everything forever.


Full Summary: As part of the end of year assessments the top students at Wammy's house are asked to submit a personal creative project. Mello discovers a passionate surge of inspiration and a driving aspect of his personality that he rarely acknowledges. He swallows his pride and asks Near to work with him on this project out of his desire to realise his vision. It is the first and last time that the two work together and changes both Mello and the course of his destiny forever.

Author's note: After reading the death note novel, Another Note, my best friend and I discussed the choice of Mello as a narrator. We agreed that the image of Mello sitting there writing the tale out was an extremely hard one to picture. Mello would never be arsed with that, especially during his furious plot to take down Kira and beat Near. A far more plausible and pleasing image was one of Mello just lounging on a couch munching on chocolate and ranting on wildly and animatedly while Matt sat in the corner dutifully typing everything up for him on a laptop, goggles still firmly in place and a cigarette in his mouth, probably dripping ash on the keyboard.

In any case though I still found the idea of Mello wanting to put something down in writing like the BB case fairly interesting. I liked the idea of Mello actually having a creative drive and desire to express things that mattered to him and so as a result this fanfic happened.

* * *

An instance of expression

It is always said that childhood is full of deciding moments that will define and effect the rest of a person's adult life. As far as Mello was concerned the pretentious pricks who spouted this 'psychological' cliché, usually whilst reflecting upon their own bland lives or regarding a child which they knew nothing about, had no idea what it was like to have real importance placed upon childhood actions. Mello however knew what it was like to live under crushing pressure. He knew what it was like to know that your performance in anything would be judged and that every judgement was permanent. Mello could not help but feel contempt for any simpering adult that belonged to the outside world, the oblivious and unburdened proletariat, who would recite that sentiment. They had no idea what it was like to live a childhood where nothing was admissible.

Mello, twelve years old and with the eyes of a cynic, lay on his bed and reflected upon the day's round of extensive testing. He felt that he had actually performed well this year. He had answered every test extensively and displayed all his skills and knowledge to the best possibly effect. This year he had been so focussed, not just driven as he had been before, not just fuelled by emotion but _focussed. _He had been able to concentrate, to stay calm and to achieve a level far higher than ever before. He had smiled today, a sincere and satisfied smile taking his lips for the first time in years. He had spent the majority of his young life on the edge of madness, feeling frustration and desperation eating away at his brain, thudding in his skull. But now he felt satisfied with himself.

Mello knew that the results of this years end of year assessments would place himself perfectly level with Near and that he might even possibly, if he could claim just a few extra points, a slight edge, achieve first place. He knew this, not believed, not hoped, not speculated, _knew._ In his years of frustration and near-hysteria over his academic inadequacy he had come to perfect one skill; the ability to monitor those who were monitoring him. He knew how to discover how he was being scored. The skill was only slightly tainted by the fact that Mello had learned it from Near, by observing how the boy read his scores as he performed his task through a variety of techniques. It was what made Near's eyes so calm; absolute knowledge, absolute control.

And yes, usually the fact that the skill was originally Near's had tainted the knowledge of Mello's own achievement but in this case Mello had relished it. Because he had been able to see Near's face as he too _knew_ that Mello was scoring a perfect one hundred by his side.

Was this what contentment felt like? Mello wondered while he lay there, his fingers twitched slightly against the bedsheets and his eyes slid shut. No, he decided eventually, he knew that he could never be content. This was simply satisfaction although this was an equally unfamiliar emotion. He sat up again and ran his hand through his shoulder length blonde hair. The assessments were not over yet though, Mello knew that he couldn't relish his victory yet. Even though he so wanted to; to thrill in his position. True the main tests were over and Mello knew that he had performed impeccably but there was still that creative project to do.

The reasons for and the criteria of the original creative project was clear and had been announced to all the top ranking members of Wammy's House Institute. They were to submit a piece of their own, in any medium, which would show their own skills best.

Mello was a realistic person; he was the dark cynical eyed boy. He knew himself well, if nothing else he was familiar with his hysterical personality, he was aware he lived on the edge of obsession, insanity. He knew all that he was and all that he wasn't. Mello did not consider himself 'talented.' He was intelligent, he was _passionate_, he was driven. He knew that he could achieve a great many things, things that Near could never do even but he did not think that he had a creative disposition.

However today, right now, he felt that his head was clear. He felt capable. He felt calm. He found that he wanted to do this project. He liked the idea of this project and although it still felt like a hard task, although it carried a vast amount of pressure, he felt like it was also something freeing. He wanted to produce something which showed how good he was, that showed what Mihael Kheel could achieve. He wanted to do something of his own, something that showed himself.

He did not consider himself talented, he did not consider himself a creative person, but right now he felt a drive to do something expressive.

He rolled over to reach under his bed and pull out a box full of chocolate bars. He pulled one out, unwrapped it and then took a big bite with a snap. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do though. He chewed thoughtfully for a few moments and then decided to go find Matt and find out if he had any idea what he was going to submit yet.

He wandered down the hallway, one hand upon the wooden panelled walls as if the extensive passageways were a maze, and found his way to Matt's room. He didn't knock just shoved the door open, walked in and threw himself onto his friend's bed, kicking up his feet on Matt's nightstand.

After about ten minutes Matt managed to tear his attention away from his compute long enough to acknowledge Mello's presence.

"'sup," he said shortly, his fingers clacking upon the keyboard. Mello could see that Matt had several instant messaging windows open and he was typing away. It was Matt's new interest to create different internet personalities and then form virtual relationships which he would manipulate until they became somehow financially profitable and then terminate them. It had been almost a week now though so he would probably be moving onto something else.

"What you got there then?" Mello asked watching him shuffling the windows and the text roll across the screen.

"Oh just some bored programmer seated in a huge corporation, a couple of rich single perverts and a professional hacker – he's quite cool, nowhere as good as me mind. He's more like a cute child to me playing around but he's got some good connections and information."

"Right," Mello murmured, "you getting some nice gifts off of the perverts?" Matt gave a dismissive noise at the suggestion.

"Gifts are child's play, not worth it. As if I'd waste my time just for a few 'gifts.' No I think you'll find I am young sixteen year old girl living in a small poor town in Singapore and I need money wired to me urgently for my family. If things go well I might decide to come across and meet my guardian angel on the over side of the world, in which case I'll of course I'll need money for a visa and the plane ticket and to finally clear all my family's debts. Y'know."

"Oh right," said Mello picking up Matt's goggles from the floor and trying them on. Glancing in the mirror he saw that they distorted his eyes terribly and made them look even larger and more protruding than usual. He removed them and sighed.

"I hate my eyes," he whined.

"Stop acting like a girl," Matt responded.

"Says the guy sweet-talking a fifty-year-old American businessman over the internet," Mello replied glaring at his friend. Matt just smirked in reply to this.

"Anyways I just wanted to know what you were doing for your creative project," Mello said while he opened up Matt's wardrobe and started to rifle through pulling out clothes that he liked the look of and holding them up against himself.

"Mmmm…not sure," Matt murmured, "I was thinking maybe a virus. And Mello my room is not a clothes store."

"Too right," Mello sneered, "your stuff sucks." He threw aside another jumper. "Anyway I don't think that a virus is a creative project."

"It would be a perfect virus. Trust me they would be impressed when I 'submit' it into Wammy's intranet system." Matt replied with a mischievous grin, "well I haven't decided for certain yet. Why you wanna maybe do something together? They said we could submit joint-projects."

"Maybe," Mello mused, "I'm not sure," he threw himself back down upon Matt's bed leaving a pile of clothes in a messy pile upon the floor. "I think I wanna write something."

"Ahuh…I'm not sure that that's your thing Mel," Matt replied carefully "…I mean you're clever and stuff and you can write well at times but well…imagination is not your thing."

"Well maybe I won't write something like that," Mello replied.

"What like…an essay? A paper?" Matt asked.

"I was thinking…maybe a play? I mean I'm not great at description and elaborate crap but I like facts, characters, plot so…so I could do a play…"

"Hmmm…" Matt mused over this suggestion, "as strange as that sounds that seems like something that would suit you. Yeah I like the sound of that. Do that."

"Mmmm…I don't know what to write yet though…" He rolled over and pushed his face into his pillow.

"Whatever it'd be better than what Near can do. It would mean something, it would be yours and it would be better," Matt said glancing back at his friend.

"Aww Matty you're so sweet!" Mello said lifting his head off the pillow to grin at the red head, "I'd get up and hug you and squeeze you but y'know I just can't really be arsed right now…Plus I don't wanna touch you when I can see you're busy making up dirty things to say to that fifty-year-old American businessman."

"Oh he really wants me. If I'm lucky he might even propose…"


End file.
